My CT, bone and heart scans were all confirmed as a-ok this morning, so at 11 am, I began my first round of chemo with my French-Canadian nurse, Mimi.
A fairly surreal room - like a chemo movie set. Reclining hospital chairs, IV drips, old, bald women, young hairy men. I sat beside another youngish chick who was more than halfway through her treatments and half-bald, like some obstinate mullet-sporting dude. She imparted some words of wisdom, told me not to assume I'd be a vomit queen and then left, with another 5 hour treatment behind her.
I was only in for an hour or so and it went fairly quickly. Once Mimi confirmed that my scans were all clear, she directed me to take my anti-nausea meds, found a rockin' vein in the back of my hand (oh, sweet respite to the crook of my arm) and began slowly injecting two Nurse Ratchet-sized syringes filled with red fluid into my IV.
"This'll make you pee pink."
When that was over, she began an IV drip of clear fluid that took an hour. I beat most of the people in there, which made me a bit stupidly proud.
Pete stayed with me to watch the awful DVD "chemo teach" and listen to Mimi list off the long list of expected side affects and book my next round for July 23. When it was over, he drove me home, with a couple of stops for fruits and gingerale.
My lovely friend and cancer twin, S, told me to stay ahead of the nausea and take the meds religiously, so after an English muffin and some udon, I tried the couch out and began to feel my head get heavy - which nicely matched my ghost-white face. I waited for another 30 minutes or so, and then 3 hours after my chemo ended this afternoon, I took my first "rescue" pill.
Just in bloody time. I spent the first 90 minutes curled up on the couch and then emerged a few minutes ago to grab my computer. Still feel and look like absolutely shite, but I'm considering this afternoon my first win.